till i'm bleeding
by cataclysms
Summary: the best revenge you could give them was feigned happiness. - massie/derrick - back to school exchange for jacqueline (pinkharts)


the best revenge you could give them was feigned happiness. - massie/derrick - back to school exchange for the Jacqueline (pinkharts)

**To: **Jacqueline, also known as pinkharts. Hope you enjoy!

**Prompts: **post-it notes, white converses, "behind her smile was everything no one would ever understand", 'all night' by icona pop

**A/N: **for the 13' Back To School Exchange.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Clique, Jacqueline's prompts, or any companies/brands mentioned.

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In between overlapping parties stocked with satisfying Barton's vodka are two people; two utterly destroyed kids who, despite the screwed up world they were forced into, still live. Their faces mask the exploding interior they try so_so_ hard to cover up, but somewhat fail every time. Because it's easy to see through someone when you can relate to them.

Alicia Rivera's September parties are somewhat of a legend to Westchester High. Depressed children sulking out of the school at the end of the day are replaced by cheering ones, who head over to the Rivera mansion and prepare to drink away the worries of a new year. Not one person wasn't spotted at the house the following two a.m.; even the geeks who would normally be spending their night glowering over a textbook are there chugging shots in an attempt to be accepted. Girls like Olivia and Claire who gave up on their future after a single heartbreak prance around, booze sloshing around in flimsy plastic red cups, and planting their fuchsia lips onto any boy they set their target on.

Their love was wasting with each syllable they spoke.

.

Derrick Harrington wasn't a part of either crowd; he was that kid who pretended to be friends with everyone but wasn't. The one who understood you need to fit in but that you also need to stand out, and who was baffled on which to choose. The next four years of his life would depend on which choice he made, a single, prompt decision that was made in a second, and that would determine his high school years.

For now, his lean, yet currently awkward body sat stiffly on an antique burgundy armchair, watching the typical back to school craze happen around him. An obviously already drunk blonde girl stumbled past his seat, messily clutching the loose, weaved fabric of the recliner in her hand for steadiness. Derrick's penny brown eyes found his way to the girls face, to see a recognizable, formerly innocent person he used to know so well.

Claire's cornflower blue pools stared pleadingly into him; looking wild, and just plain _gone_ to the world already. They didn't speak, because they didn't need to. Claire was just as scared inside as he was.

As soon as it began, the moment was over. The blonde girl was soon amidst a sloppy game of Truth or Dare, as Josh and Cam gazed at her, wishing she hadn't already thrown away her life at only 14.

.

To Derrick, everyone was broken.

Everyone in their grade, freshman year, was so incredibly young; who ought to be spending their time laughing hysterically over a Shane Dawson video, or taking part in a particularly foul game of Would You Rather; not crying their selves to sleep. Since when were kids being sent out to war; or what seemed like one to most, because their parents had absolutely no clue what was going on. He couldn't recall a recent night when he hadn't overhead his sobbing sister Sammy from her room, too dejected to speak and too numb to come out, and it only reminded him that soon, _too_soon, that would be him.

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A scene that could easily be snapped picturesquely portrayed itself in front of an inquiring brunette, who leaned against the back of the mansion's wall like it was a bed frame. Girls dressed in skimpy neon cropped tops and torn skinny jean shorts wobbled around the gigantic living, which was now covered in half filled beer cups. There wasn't a single second when at least one of the girls didn't have their tongue out, whether they were posing or making out. Desperate boys' beer swilled in their glasses as they lowered their eyes to the girls' bottoms, which thoroughly disgusted some, but caused yet another hook up to others.

The teenager, who beforehand would have waltzed around the party like she owned the place, was far from interested in acting like that now. Kids walked by, staring down at her pitifully because they knew she can't stand it. Her penetrating amber eyes didn't bore fear into the other girls, but instead flickered painfully to her white converses, which were splayed out nonchalantly in front of her.

Most of the school knew her as the infamous Massie Block. Or, the girl who gave up trying to be perfect at the end of the eighth grade.

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"Stop," Massie whispers, barely heard above the wavered shouts, to a passing blonde boy, "Stop walking."

He pauses ever so slightly, so slowly that you can hardly see it, and swivels to face her. She remembers his face, she even made out with that face way back when, but nonetheless his eyes show fear. Something she never thought someone would show when seeing her, like they used to, because roles were swapped.

"Mass," he breathes out, standing motionless, "Block." correcting himself, Derrick looks down and shyly shakes his head to himself, which makes her smile to herself.

Massie doesn't say anything. She doesn't want to say anything, and clearly neither does he. The Derrick who would have once retorted with a bold remark, now scurries away.

There's something about feeling dominant that people crave, and Massie used to know that sensation every second of her life. Now she merely nurses her crushed veneer; she's goinggoing_gone_.

.

They both know that they're half of a skinny love but they don't admit it; believing they never will. Two separate sides of one party, both completely unconnected to everyone else. Derrick Harrington and Massie Block are the oddballs, you could call it, but only to people who knew their back story.

She remembers the days when her chestnut hair was just another among hundreds of little kindergarteners, when her doe eyes were filled with pure innocence; how now she doesn't exactly remember the last time she didn't care what she wore (since she still does, months after it didn't matter anymore).

The party begins to die down around three, leaving Massie in the same position. Her sharp cheekbones curve from her ear to her lips, which are a blotchy red now. Heavy, balmy breaths puff onto her knees, and she wraps her arms around herself.

From across the crowded room, she just makes out Cam Fisher through her half closed eyes, as he slips in a puddle of whoknowswhat and onto his ass; she's reminded of the days before, when she could laugh at his famous klutziness and not be looked down at for it. Massie's eyes are completely closed now and she leans farther back onto the wall grinning, flashbacks returning. She looked like a blissful, yet mad girl, but behind her smile was everything no one would ever understand_._

.

For a moment Derrick debates leaving and never coming back to Alicia's ohsostupid Back To School parties ever again, but _she_ stands from where she was sitting all night. Massie's a martyr to him, and she doesn't even know it.

He watches intently on her from his small corner and remembers that she's always been fragile- the most fragile girl he had ever met- but nobody ever knew until now. He watches as she tucks a wavy tress behind her ear, and dear_god_ her skin is the most perfect shade of pale cream to him, but he only really noticed after she stopped trying to be the flawless teenager his parents wanted him to have. He watches as her eyes sputter angrily when a wasted girl falls across her path, and as he observes where her destination is. She weaves her way to the ivory refridgerator, covered in post-it notes with phone numbers written in a messy scrawl. A Kool-Aid juice bag is soon in her hand, and she sits on the foot long windowsill alone, merely staring at the stars.

It's at this moment that Derrick Harrington realizes he's in love with Massie Block.

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"Why are you here?" he asks softly, sitting next to her on the sill. The gaze she gives him is so full of hatred that Derrick can't help but correct himself, "You don't seem like you want to be here, much less be enjoying yourself."

"I guess..." she breathes in, "I'm just trying to show everyone that they're wrong about me." she confesses. Derrick stands behind her and wraps his arms around her slender body, sniffing her lingering passion fruit shampoo. He's quiet for awhile.

"Neither of us should be here." he declares finally, over the deafening beats of 'All Night' by Icona Pop. Massie blinks slowly, and without warning, yanks his arm with a force he had no idea she had. She drags him to the door, but not before grabbing him his own juice bag and slapping a staring Kemp. Her sneakers clacking like high heels against the driveway, the icy wind biting on her bare arms, Derrick sneaks a peak at her out of the corner of his eye and cracks a small smile; he hadn't smiled all night.

.

_/and oh, look, they were sinking all along._

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**that was sort of short, but I hoped you liked it nonetheless; review, loves?**

**Lily**


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